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THE  ROSE  OF  FLAME 


AND  OTHER  POEMS  OF  LOVE 


BY 


ANNE   REEVE   ALDRICH 


"  And  for  one  moment  mine  eyes  were  unsealed,  and  I 
beheld  both  Heaven  and  Hell.  And  I  shrank  back  with  a 
great  awe,  and  asked  :  *  What  wouldst  thou  teach  me  ?  '  And 
the  Master  replied  :  '  Thou  hast  seen  Love.'  " 


NEW  YORK   AND  LONDON 

G.   P.   PUTNAM'S    SONS 


1889 


COPYRIGHT  BY 

ANNE  REEVE  ALDRICH 


Press  of 

G.  P.  PUTNAM'S  SONS 
York 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

NEW  EDEN 3 

A  WANDERER 5 

LOVE'S  CHANGE 6 

LENT 7 

DREAMS 9 

Two  SONGS n 

AN  AWAKENING 12 

THE  LAST  MOMENT 13 

UNDER  THE  ROSE 14 

IMMOLATION 15 

THE  END 16 

ARCADIA 17 

LOVE  THE  DESTROYER 19 

Two  PARTINGS 20 

THE  PILGRIM 21 

ROSE  SONG 25 

NOCTURNE 26 

IN  SHADOW 28 

A  NEW  YEAR 29 

PRESCIENCE 31 

IN  EXTREMIS 32 

FIVE  SHORT  SONGS 34 

IN  EXCULPATION 37 

THE  ROSE  OF  FLAME 38 

A  MARCH  SONG 41 

A  RETURN  TO  THE  VALLEY 42 

A  PLEA 43 

SISTER  SAINT  MAGDALEN 44 

IN  NOVEMBER 46 


398041 


IV  CONTENTS. 

COLOR  SONG 47 

A  MESSAGE  TO  MY  DEAR 48 

A  FALLEN  BLOSSOM 49 

THE  PORTRAIT 50 

WHEN  I  WAS  THINE 51 

PREMONITIONS .        .53 

SMILES  AND  TEARS 56 

A  BALLAD  OF  THE  BELL 57 

SEPARATION 59 

FROM  HIM  TO  HER 60 

BEREFT 62 

A  REMONSTRANCE 63 

FOREWARNED 64 

AN  OLD  BURDEN 65 

ASSURANCE 66 

HELIOTROPE 67 

A  PASTORAL 68 

THE  JUNE  STORM 69 

A  DEPARTURE 71 

A  SOLILOQUY  IN  CHURCH 72 

SLEEPLESSNESS 75 

A  SONG  OF  LIFE 76 

AN  APRIL  PLAINT 77 

SONG .  78 

HARVEST-TIDE  FOR  ONE '•  79 

THE  WISH 80 

A  FOREST  EPISODE 82 

Two  SONGS  OF  SINGING 83 

HEINRICH  HEINE 84 

CONFESSION 85 

A  RETROSPECTION 86 

IGNIS  FATUUS 89 

LONGING 90 

TIME'S  REVENGE    .        . 91 

SOLACE .92 


A  WORD  BEFORE  THESE  VERSES. 


These  from  me  to  you.     No  song  worth  singing 
Came  until  I  stood  within  your  shadow, 

—  Felt  the  stinging  tears  within  mine  eyelids, 

—  Learned  some  songs  are  born  with  heart's  upheaval, 
Tears  of  blood,  and  all  the  pangs  of  travail. 

These  across  the  snow-clad  miles  I  send  you. 
Would,  instead,  I  felt  your  breath  upon  me, 
Would,  instead,  my  trembling  lips  could  murmur 
In  your  ear,  three  words,  that  in  their  compass 
Hold  the  music  of  all  poets'  singing  / 


THE  ROSE  OF  FLAME. 


NEW  EDEN. 

IN  that  first  Eden,  Love  gave  birth  to  Shame, 
And  died  of  horror  at  its  loathsome  child. 

Let  us  slay  Shame,  and  bury  it  to-day, — 
Yea,  hide  it  in  this  second  Eden's  wild, 

This  dim,  strange  place,  where,  for  aught  we  two 
know, 

No  man  hath  stepped  since  God  first  made  it  so. 

Now,  dream  we  are  alone  in  all  the  earth. 

Say  wouldst  thou  weep  if  all  save  we  were  dead  ? 
/  would  not  weep,  but  closer  to  my  breast 

Would  press  the  golden  glories  of  thy  head, 
Rejoicing  that  none  other  of  my  race 
Should  feed  his  eyes  upon  thy  wondrous  face. 
3 


4  THE  ROSE   OF  FLAME. 

Look  at  this  tangled  snare  of  undergrowth, 

These  low-branched  trees  that  darken  all  below  ; 

Drink  in  the  hot  scent  of  this  noontide  air, 
And  hear,  far  off,  some  distant  river  flow, 

Lamenting  ever  till  it  finds  the  sea. 

New  Life,  new  World,  what  's  Shame  to  thee  and 
me  ? 

Let  us  slay  Shame  ;  we  shall  forget  his  grave 
Locked  in  the  rapture  of  our  lone  embrace. 

Yet  what  if  there  should  rise,  as  once  of  old, 
New  wonder  of  this  new,  yet  ancient  place : 

An  angel,  with  a  whirling  sword  of  flame, 

To  drive  us  forth  forever  in  God's  name  ! 


A  WANDERER. 

THE  snows  lie  thick  around  his  door, 
— That  door  made  fast  by  bar  and  lock. 

He  will  not  heed  thee,  trembling,  chilled  ; 
He  will  not  hear  thy  piteous  knock. 

Poor  wandering  Heart,  canst  thou  not  see 

There  is  no  welcome  here  for  thee  ? 

The  air  is  numb  with  frost  and  night. 

O  wait  no  longer  in  the  snow, 
For  lo,  from  yonder  latticed  pane 

Faint  music  and  the  fire-light's  glow  ; 
He  hath  another  guest  in  state, 
And  thou,  poor  Heart,  thou  art  too  late  ! 


LOVE'S  CHANGE. 

I  WENT  to  dig  a  grave  for  Love, 
But  the  earth  was  so  stiff  and  cold, 

That  though  I  strove  through  the  bitter  night, 
I  could  not  break  the  mold. 

And  I  said  :  "  Must  he  lie  in  my  house  in  state, 

And  stay  in  his  wonted  place  ? 
Must  I  have  him  with  me  another  day, 

With  that  awful  change  in  his  face  ?  " 


LENT. 

AH,  the  road  is  a  weary  road 
That  leads  one  on  to  God, 
And  all  too  swift  the  eager  race 
To  suit  a  lagging  pace, 
And  far,  far  distant  looks  the  goal 
To  the  most  patient  soul. 
So  I  forsook  the  sharp  set  road, 
And  walked  where  pleasant  herbs  were  sowed. 
I  flung  the  sandals  from  tired  feet, 
And  strayed  where  honeyed  flowers  grew  sweet, 
Nor  strained  tense  nerves,  nor  onward  pressed, 
But  made  the  goal  his  breast. 
His  circling  arms  my  Heaven  I  made, 
And,  save  to  him,  no  more  I  prayed. 
So  for  my  sin  I  paid  the  price 
Of  endless  joys  of  Paradise. 
7 


THE  ROSE   OF  FLAME. 

Good  fellow-pilgrims,  go  your  way. 
For  me  't  is  all  in  vain  to  pray. 
I  weep,  when  o'er  the  windy  track 
Your  victors'  hymns  float  echoing  back, 
But  still  I  know,  with  eyelids  wet, 
I  could  return,  but  not  forget. 


DREAMS. 

So  still  I  lay  within  his  arms 

He  dreamed  I  was  asleep, 
Across  my  lips  I  felt  his  breath 

Like  burning  breezes  creep. 
I  felt  his  watchful,  searching  gaze 

Though  closed  eyes  cannot  see  ; 
I  felt  his  warm  and  tender  grasp 

More  closely  prison  me. 

The  waking  dream  was  all  too  sweet 

For  me  to  wish  to  sleep. 
I  was  too  far  beyond  Earth's  woes 

To  speak,  or  smile,  or  weep. 
How  after  this,  could  I  endure 

The  troublous  times  of  Age  and  Tears, 
To  sit  and  wait  for  Death  to  dawn 

Across  the  midnight  of  my  years  ! 
9 


10  THE  ROSE   OF  FLAME. 

Love  will  not  stay,  though  we  entreat  ; 

Death  will  not  come  at  call. 
Ah,  to  return  to  life  and  grief  ! 

Ah,  having  risen  to  fall  ! 
I  felt  his  mouth  burn  on  my  own  ; 

I  raised  my  eyes  to  his  eyes'  deep. 
He  thought  his  kiss  had  wakened  me, 

— He  dreamed  I  was  asleep  ! 


TWO  SONGS. 

i. 

OUT  of  the  burning  East, 

And  over  three  blue  seas, 
He  came  to  melt  my  icy  pride, 

And  storm  my  heart's  hushed  ease. 

O  few  are  found  to  mend, 

But  many  mad  to  mar. 
Were  mens'  hearts  here  not  cruel  enough 

That  thou  needst  come  so  far  ? 


n. 

How  can  I  from  my  past  go  free  ? 
You  laid  its  fetters'  weight  on  me  ; 
You  locked  them,  and  have  lost  the  key. 

And  I  have  worn  them  in  all  lands  ; 
Nor  will  they  drop  from  my  dead  hands, 
But  rust  on  through  the  thick  grave-bands, 
ii 


AN  AWAKENING. 

LOVE  had  forgotten  and  gone  to  sleep  ; 

Love  had  forgotten  the  present  and  past. 
I  was  so  glad  when  he  ceased  to  weep, 

"  Now  he  is  quiet/'  I  whispered,  "  at  last." 

What  sent  you  here  on  that  night  of  all  nights, 
Breaking  his  slumber,  dreamless  and  deep  ? 

— Just  as  I  whispered  below  my  breath  : 
"  Love  has  forgotten  and  gone  to  sleep." 


THE  LAST  MOMENT. 

So,  all  is  said,  and  all  is  done. 

No  more  for  me  this  side  o'  the  sun. 

Who  knows  ?     I  may  wake  in  pleasant  weather, 

Where  later  we  two  may  walk, — together. 

Who  knows  ?    The  old  love  may  rise  in  him, 

And  his  eyes  be  wet  when  mine  own  are  dim, 

And  well  it  may  end  that  was  well  begun  ; 

But  it  will  not  be  this  side  o'  the  sun. 

Ah,  but  the  days  here  on  earth  go  fast  ; 

He  will  remember,  and  come  at  last. 

O  what  shall  I  care  for  Paradise 

While  I  watch  for  him  there,  with  eager  eyes  ? 

He  has  forgotten  ;  but  soon  or  late 

He  will  remember,  and  I  can  wait. 

When  the  tide  turns,  it  swells  full  fast  ; 

He  will  remember,  and  come  at  last. 


UNDER  THE  ROSE. 

HE  moved  with  trembling  fingers 
From  my  throat,  the  band  of  red, 

And  a  band  of  burning  kisses 
His  lips  set  there  instead. 

Then  he  tied  again  the  ribbon. 

"  I  will  hide  them,  Love,"  said  he, 
"  And  the  secret  of  thy  necklace 

None  shall  know,  save  thee  and  me." 

It  was  just  a  foolish  fancy, 

But  from  that  day  to  this, 
I  wore  the  crimson  ribbon 

To  hide  my  lover's  kiss. 

He  has  gone,  and  love  is  over, 
But  this  blade  within  my  hand, 

Still  shall  hide  our  secret  kisses 
With  another  crimson  band. 
14 


IMMOLATION. 

TAKE  her,  and  lay  her  head  upon  thy  breast, 
And  be  thou  blest  beyond  thy  heart's  desire  ; 

And  as  the  star  that  ushers  in  the  dawn 

Fades  from  the  sight  in  morning's  glow  and 
fire, 

So,  having  heralded  thy  break  of  day, 

'T  is  Nature's  law  that  I  no  longer  stay. 

A  path  was  I  that  led  thee  to  thy  goal  ; 

Forget  the  path,  since  now  the  goal  is  won. 
That  was  its  proper  place  in  all  the  land, 

And  it  was  made  to  set  thy  feet  upon. 
Its  blessing  is  that  all  its  course  did  tend 
To  bring  thee  to  thy  journey's  happy  end. 


THE  END. 

Do  you  recall  that  little  room 

Close  blinded  from  the  searching  sun, 
So  dim,  my  blossoms  dreamed  of  dusk  ? 

And  shut  their  petals  one  by  one. 
— And  then  a  certain  crimson  eve, 

The  death  of  day  upon  the  tide  ; 
How  all  its  blood  spread  on  the  waves, 

And  stained  the  waters  far  and  wide. 
Ah,  you  forget ; 
But  I  remember  yet. 

When  I  awake  in  middle  night, 

And  stretch  warm  hands  to  touch  your  face, 
There  is  no  chance  that  I  shall  find 

Aught  but  your  chill  and  empty  place. 
I  have  no  bitter  word  to  say, 

The  Past  is  worth  this  anguish  sore, 
-- — But  mouth  to  mouth,  and  heart  to  heart, 
No  more  on  earth,  O  God,  no  more  ! 
For  Love  is  dead  ; 
>Vould  't  were  I,  instead. 
16 


ARCADIA. 

SUNLIGHT  on  us,  Love  ; 

Not  a  shadow  comes  between. 
Midway  of  the  field  we  stand, 
Heart  in  heart  and  hand  in  hand 

And  all  the  land  is  green. 

Look  around  thee,  Love, — 
Naught  but  meadows  shining  fair, 
Save,  as  far  as  eye  can  see, 
Long,  low  hills,  clothed  tenderly 
By  the  veils  of  mist  they  wear. 

But  below  us,  Love, 

Hidden  by  the  meadow's  rise, 
Whispers  brokenly  a  stream 
Like  a  voice  heard  in  a  dream  ; 

Clear  its  current  as  thine  eyes. 
17 


1 8  THE  ROSE   OF  FLAME. 

Thou  must  linger,  Love, 
For  a  little  on  this  side  ; 

Both  its  banks  are  soft  with  moss. 

Grieve  not,  Dear,  that  I  shall  cross, 
For  but  shallow  is  its  tide. 

Canst  not  see  it,  Love  ? 

Nay,  Heart's  Dearest,  nor  can  I ; 

But  in  pauses  to  mine  ear 

Comes  the  sound  thou  canst  not  hear, 
Filling  silence  with  a  sigh. 

Smile  again,  dear  Love, 
Brighter  day  was  never  seen. 

Pull  these  blossoms  for  thy  hair  ; 

Spring-time's  joy  is  in  the  air, 
And  all  the  land  is  green. 


LOVE,  THE  DESTROYER. 

LOVE  is  a  Fire  ; 

Nor  Shame,  nor  Pride  can  well  withstand  Desire. 

"  For  what  are  they,"  we  cry,  "  that  they  should 

dare 

To  keep,  O  Love,  the  haughty  look  they  wear  ? 
Nay,  burn  the  victims,  O  thou  sacred  Fire, 
That  with  their  death  thou  mayst  but  flame  the 

higher. 

Let  them  feel  once  the  fierceness  of  thy  breath, 
And  make  thee  still   more   beauteous   with   their 

death." 

Love  is  a  Fire  ; 

But  ah,  how  short-lived  is  the  flame  Desire  ! 
Love,  having  burnt  whatever  once  we  cherished, 
And  blackened  all  things  else,  itself  hath  perished. 
And  now  alone  in  gathering  night  we  stand, 
Ashes  and  ruin  stretch  on  either  hand. 
Yet  while  we  mourn,  our  sad  hearts  whisper  low  : 
"  We  served  the  mightiest  God  that  man  can  know." 
19 


TWO  PARTINGS. 

HE  said  good-bye  with  laughing  eyes, 
Too  careless  of  me  to  be  wise 

And  see  I  grieved,  since  he  must  go. 
With  weary  tears,  through  night  and  day, 
In  thought,  I  follow  on  his  way, 
For  he  must  go,  and  I  must  stay. 

1  dread  the  bitter  winds  that  blow. 

Now  time,  at  last,  brings  near  a  day 
When  I  must  go,  and  he  must  stay, 

And  I,  like  him,  shall  smile  to  go. 
And  when  he  says  good-bye  to  me, 
Although  he  weep,  I  shall  not  see, 
But  if  in  thoughts  he  follow  me, 

He  need  not  dread  the  winds  that  blow. 


THE  PILGRIM. 

THERE  stood  a  pilgrim  at  the  palace  gate, 
Who  fain  would  enter  at  the  Court  of  Love, 

And  knocking,  as  he  turned,  and  stood  to  wait, 
About  him  circled  many  a  crested  dove. 

Sweating  he  stood  beneath  the  August  noon, 

And  white  with  dust  his  cloak  and  travelling  shoon. 

And  as  at  last  it  opened  to  his  knock, 
Within  there  gaped  a  goodly  company. 

Who  looked  upon  him  with  a  curious  gaze, 
As  if  his  state  and  quest  they  fain  would  see. 

And  "  Step  thou  close/*  said  one,  "  and  tell  us  all 

What  thou  dost  seek  here  at  Love's  entrance  hall." 

The  throng  seemed  weary  with  some  weight  of  woe, 
And  part  wore  ruined  garlands  on  the  head, 

And  some,  all  naked  in  the  summer  heat 

With  grievous  stripes  were  furrowed  black,  or  red. 

But  bruised  or  weary,  each  one  on  his  face 

Wore  the  same  look  of  mingled  grief  and  grace. 


22  THE  ROSE   OF  FLAME. 

"  I  come,  " — the  pilgrim  said,  and  half  abashed 
Gazed  on  the  small  sere  grasses  at  his  feet, — 

"  To  enter  in  the  service  of  King  Love, 

Whose  bitterest  dole,  they  say,  is  passing  sweet. 

Him  would  I  serve>  with  body  and  with  soul, 

And  yield  me  utterly  to  his  control." 

He  spoke,  and  lo,  looks  swift  as  fluttering  birds 

Flew  back  and  forth  from  those  who  gazed  on  him. 
And  one  young  maid  drew  close  and  touched  his 

arm, 
And  with  compassionate  eyes  grown   wet    and 

dim, 

And  swelling  throat,  and  tender  voice,  she  said  ; 
"  Our  King  gives  golden  moments  ;  hours  of  lead. 

"  Our  King's  unequal  wage  to  those  who  serve, 
We  know,  yet  serve  him  meekly  none  the  less, 

And  if  to-night  He  smite  thee  with  sore  stripes, 
To-morrow  He  may  look  on  thee  and  bless, 

And  by  that  look,  be  thy  wounds  ne'er  so  sore, 

They  will  be  healed,  and  anguish  thee  no  more. 


THE  PILGRIM.  23 

"  Thou  must  yield  up  thy  soul  into  His  hand, 

Even  as  thy  body  to  His  governing. 
Thy  thoughts  are  His  ;  thy  lips  are  also  His, 

And  praises  of  none  other  shalt  thou  sing. 
He  is  a  jealous  Lord  to  serve  withal, 
And  dread  His  vengeance,  if  thou  slip  or  falL 


"  His  armor  thou  must  wear ;   't  will  weigh  thee 
down, 

And  by  it  all  thy  body  shall  be  torn. 
And  weary  watches  thou  perforce  must  keep, 

Nor  think  to  sleep  till  breaking  of  the  morn. 
But  laboring  patient  for  a  weary  space, 
Perchance  he  deigns  to  show  to  thee  His  face." 

The  pilgrim  listened,  leaning  by  the  wall, 
And  absently  wrote  figures  with  his  st.aff. 

And  then  at  last  he  raised  his  glowing  face, 

And  in  his  throat  they  heard  a  hard,  glad  laugh. 

"  And  is  that  all  ?  And  some  day,  may  I  hope 

The  while  I  toil,  and  serving  blindly,  grope 


24  THE  ROSE   OF  FLAME. 

"  For  ways  that  best  shall  please  my  Lord  and  King, 
That  ere  I  die,  He  once  may  look  on  me  ? — 

That  I  for  one  rich  moment  of  my  life 
May  gaze,  half-dazzled  on  His  majesty? 

Enough,  enough,  that  possible  great  bliss 

Is  worth  a  dozen  lives  as  cramped  as  this." 

And  then  they  pressed  around  him,  man  and  maid, 
And  in  his  mouth  he  felt  a  kiss  of  flame. 

"  Now  cast  from  thee  the  sandals  of  vain  pride," 
They  said,    "  arid   throw  thou   off  the   robe  of 
shame. 

They  will  but  cumber  thee  by  day  and  night, 

Beside,  no  man  may  enter,  thus  bedight." 

And  then  the  gate  swung  closed  upon  its  hinge, 
And  as  the  novice  entered  with  the  throng, 

Upon  the  silence  of  the  scorching  noon 

Wavered  most  faintly  back  a  chorused  song, 

Solemn  as  death,  and  sweet  as  an  embrace, 

For  they  who  sang  had  looked  upon  Love's  face. 


ROSE  SONG. 

PLANT,  above  my  lifeless  heart 

Crimson  roses,  red  as  blood. 
As  if  the  love,  pent  there  so  long 

Were  pouring  forth  its  flood. 

Then,  through  them,  my  heart  may  tell, 

Its  Past  of  Love  and  Grief, 
And  I  shall  feel  them  grow  from  it, 

And  know  a  vague  relief. 

Through  rotting  shroud  shall  feel  their  roots, 
And  unto  them  myself  shall  grow, 

And  when  I  blossom  at  her  feet, 
She,  on  that  day,  shall  know  ! 


NOCTURNE. 

THE  moon  has  gone  to  sleep, 

It  is  dark  here  under  the  trees, 
There  is  presage  of  storm  in  the  hot,  hushed  air 

And  never  a  stir  of  breeze. 

I  lie  here  spent  on  his  breast, 

All  the  war  in  my  soul  is  dead, 
I  have  struggled,  and  I  am  conquered  at  last, 

No  more  strife,  let  me  rest  instead. 

What  so  good  in  life  or  death, 

As  to  feel  his  warm  breath  on  my  face, 

To  be  thrown  here,  storm-tossed  against  his  breast, 
My  shelter  and  hiding-place. 

O  the  hush  of  the  Summer  nignt, 

O  the  Silence  that  wraps  us  round, 
O  the  Silence  of  vanquished  and  conqueror, 

Unbroken  by  stir  or  sound. 
26 


NOCTURNE.  27 

O  why,  through  the  rapture  and  rest, 
Must  run  this  one  pain  like  a  snake — 

Only  an  hour  at  the  best  for  this  dream, 
And  blankness  and  chill  when  you  wake. 

Crying  and  wailing  at  light, 

Soon  will  this  night-hush  be  gone, 

Swiftly  these  dark  hours  are  flying  by, 
Then  the  agony  of  the  dawn  ! 


IN  SHADOW. 

YES,  go  ;  the  night  is  changing  as  we  wait, 

Black  clouds  stretch  fingers  out  and  clutch  the 

moon, 
The  mists  hang  low  ;  the  winds  begin  to  croon, 

Filling  the  air  with  wailings  desolate. 

Some  night,  with  lips  too  cold  to  shape  a  cry, 
I  shall  remember  :  u  We  stood  hand  in  hand, 
Dull  moonlight  on  a  sodden  stretch  of  land,' 

Low-hanging  vapor,  and  the  winds'  half  sigh." 


28 


A  NEW  YEAR. 

THY  bride  is  waiting  in  the  kirk, 
The  wedding  wine  waits  in  thy  hall. 

Adieu. 

For  me,  the  stream's  cold  tide  to  drink, 
Where  once  we  lingered  at  its  brink, 
The  kirk-yard  waits  thy  Summer's  work. 

Adieu. 

For  her,  the  sweetest  flowers  that  grow, 
For  me,  the  faded  Autumn  grass, 

Adieu. 

For  me,  the  dead  leaves'  tarnished  gold. 
Ah,  linger  not,  for  once  of  old, 
Love,  thou  did'st  stay  when  I  said  "  Go  !  " 

Adieu. 
29 


30  THE  ROSE   OF  FLAME. 

For  her,  the  pearl  wrought  marriage-dress, 
The  choir,  the  Mass,  the  ring  of  gold. 

Adieu. 

For  me,  the  chants  that  night-birds  sing. 
My  hand  in  thine,  I  asked  no  ring, 
Nor  blessed  by  love,  the  Church  to  bless. 

Adieu. 

For  her,  the  wedding  sheets  are  spread, 
For  her,  the  cup  of  Love  and  Life. 

Adieu. 

For  me,  the  cup  of  Love  and  Death. 
Then  earth  to  earth,  as  the  priest  saith, 
My  bed  of  love,  and  my  last  bed. 

Adieu. 


PRESCIENCE. 

SIGHED  a  wave  in  middle  ocean, 

"  O  to  reach  the  warm,  white  shore  ! 

On  its  breast  to  lie  in  silence, 
Hushed  in  peace,  forevermore. 

"  Ah,  I  know  what  lies  before  me, 
I,  at  last,  shall  clasp  the  shore. 

Break  my  heart  on  it  one  moment, 
Then  moan  on,  forevermore." 


IN  EXTREMIS. 

THE  sacred  tapers  flickered  fair, 

The  priest  has  gone  with  Host  and  prayer  ; 

I  heard  the  "  Nunc  Dimittis  "  said, 

— Not  with  the  heart,  but  with  the  head. 

Though  I,  the  while,  lay  dying  near, 
This  was  all  my  heart  could  hear  : 
"  I  love  thee,  lay  thy  lips  on  mine, 
Thy  kisses  turn  my  head  like  wine." 

And  this  was  all  my  heart  could  see, 
Instead  of  the  cross  held  out  to  me, 
That  well-known  small  and  scented  room, 
Made  sweetly  dusk  by  curtain's  gloom. 

And  this  was  all  my  heart  could  feel, 
Spite  of  these  pains  like  stabbing  steel, 
The  throbbing  pulses  of  thy  breast, 
Where,  weary,  I  was  wont  to  rest. 
32 


IN  EXTREMIS.  33 

O  what  shall  come  to  me,  alas  ! 
Whose  soul  so  soon  in  death  must  pass 
The  soul  too  wholly  thine  to  dwell 
On  hope  of  heaven,  or  dread  of  hell. 

If  heaven,  that  awful  glassy  sea, 
May  still  reflect  some  memory. 
If  hell,  not  all  eternal  fire, 
Can  quite  burn  out  the  old  desire. 

Instead  of  name  of  pitying  saint 
Breathed  as  the  passing  soul's  last  plaint, 
Thy  name  will  be  my  latest  breath. 
Who  wast  my  life,  who  art  my  death. 


FIVE  SHORT  SONGS. 
I. 

AN    ANNIVERSARY. 

MY  languor  grieves  you,  and  my  restless  sigh  ? 
Is  there  no  wish  your  love  can  gratify  ? 
Yes,  journey  till  you  find,  and  bring  me  here 
The  one  who  kissed  me  close  this  day  last  year  ! 

II. 

AN   ENCHANTRESS. 

I  can  vouch  no  more  for  the  Future 

Than  I  can  for  the  morrow's  fair  weather, 

And  my  Past  is  well  seamed  with  by-paths  ; 
We  can  scarcely  retrace  them  together. 

And  why  should  my  Past  give  you  trouble, 

If  its  secrets  it  never  discloses  ? 
Why  to-night  should  you  grasp  at  the  Future  ? 

You  have  me,  and  the  moonlight  and  roses  ! 
34 


FIVE   SHORT  SONGS.  35 

III. 

SERVITUDE. 

The  church  was  dim  at  vespers. 

My  eyes  were  on  the  Rood. 
But  yet  I  felt  thee  near  me, 

In  every  drop  of  blood. 

In  helpless,  trembling  bondage 
My  soul's  weight  lies  on  thee, 

O  call  me  not  at  dead  of  night, 
Lest  I  should  come  to  thee  ! 

IV. 

A  FETE-DAY. 

They  brought  me  snowy  roses, 

A  picture  of  my  Saint, 
A  little  dove,  whose  tender  note 

Was  like  a  virgin's  plaint. 
But  you  ?    You  brought  fierce  kisses 

That  caught  my  heart  in  snare, 
They  crushed  the  snowy  roses, 

That  decked  my  throat  and  hair. 


36  THE  ROSE   OF  FLAME. 

The  pictured  Saint,  in  anguish, 

Gazed  down  from  carven  frame, 
•     And  prayed,  perhaps  in  heaven, 

For  her  who  bears  her  name. 
The  frightened  dove  moaned  softly, 

With  ruffled  wing  and  crest. 
And  never  since  will  nestle 

As  once,  within  my  breast  ! 

V. 

LIFE. 

Far  where  the  snow  whitens  the  marshy  sod, 

Lives  one  who  nightly  speaks  my  name  to  God, 

With  simple  faith,  its  saintliness  shall  bear 

An  added  weight  with  Heaven  to  grant  his  prayer. 

And  in  a  city  church-yard,  calm  at  last, 

Lies  one  who  cursed  me  as  his  sad  soul  passed. 

"  God  pity  me  !  "  he  cried,  "  This  is  my  shame, 

That  e'en  to  curse  thee,  I  should  speak  thy  name  !  " 

Which  gauged  me  best  ?     Ah,  friend,  I  cannot  say. 

To  know  myself,  I  wait  till  Judgment  Day. 


IN  EXCULPATION. 

You  seared  both  eyes  with  kisses, 
And  then  bade  me,  blinded,  go. 

Nor  leave  betraying  foot-prints 
Upon  your  life's  pure  snow. 

Ah,  Love,  you  should  remember 
Ere  you  set  blind  captives  free 

They  cannot  find  the  by-paths 
Who  can  no  longer  see  ! 

Ah,  Love,  't  was  your  cruel  folly 
That  set  me  journeying  so, 

And  hoped  to  find,  thereafter, 
No  foot-prints  on  the  snow. 


37 


THE  ROSE  OF  FLAME. 

GoD-like  ignorance  have  they 

Who  the  voyage  dare  undertake. 
Yet  men  venture  every  day 

For  the  mystic  Blossom's  sake. 
Smile  and  weep  for  such  as  they, 
If  perchance  ye  know  the  way. 
Smile  for  foe,  and  weep  for  friend, 
Strange  the  journey,  sure  its  end. 

Through  wide,  twilight  seas  the  course. 

He  may  start  from  any  port. 
Fate  alone  stands  at  the  helm, 

Be  the  sailing  long  or  short. 
Night  or  day  or  weary  week, 
Still  she  guides,  and  does  not  speak. 
No  wild  gale,  or  tempest's  wrath 
Dares  to  cross  his  vessel's  path. 
38 


THE  ROSE  OF  FLAME.  39 

And  what  place  of  dreams  is  this, 

Where  the  keel  slides  in  the  sand  ? 
Never  mortal's  eyes  but  once 

Gaze  on  such  a  magic  strand. 
The  shore  is  veiled  by  mists  of  Shame 
Where  grows  the  luring  Rose  of  Flame. 
Bare  sand,  without  a  shrub  or  tree, 
And  vapor  white,  and  whispering  sea. 

And  now  Fate  holds  him  by  the  hand, 
And  leads  him  inland,  till  no  more 

The  mist  of  Shame  cleaves  to  the  sand, 
And  distant  grows  the  sea  and  shore. 

Out  of  the  desert,  stretching  bare, 

Come  dizzy  scents  that  load  the  air. 

Blindly  and  unfatigued  he  goes  ; 

He  breathes  the  perfume  of  the  Rose. 

Nearer — he  feels  the  burning  heat. 

Can  desert  hold  a  flower  like  this  ? 
He  sees,  is  blinded  by  its  glow  ; 

The  scent  is  like  a  clinging  kiss. 


40  THE  ROSE   OF  FLAME. 

The  perfume  deepens  to  a  pang, 
And  in  his  brain  strange  music  sang, 
Such  as  lost  Spirits  sing  in  Hell. 
Then, — days, — or  years  ;  he  best  can  tell. 

Withered,  sere,  and  scorched  at  heart, 
He  must  seek  the  world  once  more. 
Never  shall  he  sail  again 

Through  such  seas,  to  touch  such  shore, 
And  the  memory  of  that  strand 
Makes  him  loathe  all  other  land, 
And  no  flower  seems  worth  the  name, 
Since  he  saw  the  Rose  of  Flame, 


A  MARCH   SONG. 

MY  love  stands  in  the  falling  snow, 
She  will  not  hear  me  woo, 

Rest,  little  flakes,  upon  her  breast, 
'T  is  colder  far  than  you. 

Yet  spite  of  wintry  wind,  she  wears 

A  knot  of  violets  blue. 
Die,  little  flowers,  upon  her  breast 

And  would  that  I  were  you. 


A  RETURN  TO  THE  VALLEY. 

BEHOLD  me  at  thy  feet.     Alone  I  climbed 

And  wandered  through  the  mountain  land  of  Art 

Amid  God's  awful  snows  ;  the  keen  thin  air 

Pierced  through  my  brain,  and  chilled  me  at  the 
heart. 

Behold  me  at  thy  feet.  A  famished  heart 
Does  ill  to  travel  by  such  paths  as  these. 

Better  for  me  to  seek  this  vale  once  more, 
Better  for  me  to  crouch  here  at  thy  knees. 

Behold  me  at  thy  feet.    And  thou  dost  stretch 
No  tender  hand  to  raise  me  to  thy  breast. 

Ah,  *t  is  a  foolish  bird  that  hopes  to  find 

Untouched,  in  leafless  hedge,  its  last  year's  nest. 

I  will  depart,  and  seek  again  the  heights, 
Above  hot  love,  or  wholesome  hate  of  foes. 

But  from  this  day  my  pilgrim  feet  must  leave 
A  track  of  blood  across  the  awful  snows. 


A  PLEA. 

YES,  thy  love  was  passing  sweet, 
Still,  thy  gift  is  incomplete. 
Round  it  to  its  perfect  sphere, 
Ere  thou  kiss,  and  leave  me,  Dear. 
Lest  in  future — who  can  say  ? 
I  should  curse  thee  for  this  day. 
I  would  not  outlive  to-night, 
Let  me  die,  while  love  's  at  height. 
Life  has  nothing  left  to  prove, 
Give  me  death,  as  well  as  love  ! 


43 


SISTER  SAINT  MAGDALEN. 

I  MET  you  in  the  street  to-day, 
In  sombre  robe,  and  cloak,  and  wimple. 

The  folds  of  white  around  your  chin, 
Strove  all  in  vain  to  hide  its  dimple. 

You  held  a  basket  in  the  hand 

That  once  clasped  mine  in  stress  of  passion. 
A  small  child  from  your  parish  school, 

Tramped  by  your  side  in  stolid  fashion. 

Strange  World !     I  little  dreamed  that  you 
For  one  sweet  hour  of  love  and  folly, 

Must  cleanse  your  soul  by  penances, 
And  dreary  nights  of  melancholy. 

I  wonder  if,  in  your  chill  cell, 

The  lips  that  kissed  mine  never  falter, 

And  through  the  solemn  hours  repeat 
The  hymns,  and  rosary,  and  psalter. 
44 


SISTER   SAINT  MAGDALEN.  45 

In  vain  I  asked  your  eyes  to-day  ; 

As  quick  as  thought  you  dropped  your  lashes. 
Perhaps  't  was  fancy  made  me  dream 

That  fire  still  slept  beneath  the  ashes. 

Ah  well,  the  night  grows  cold,  my  pipe 

Is  almost  out.     I  wonder,  wonder 
What  memories  haunt  your  heart  to-night, 

What  convent  roof  you  're  sheltering  under. 

If  in  your  prayers  my  graceless  name 
Is  whispered  in  the  silence  nightly, 

'T  is  man's  return  for  too  much  love 
To  hold  the  heaped  up  measure  lightly. 

'T  is — God  knows  what  it  is,  but  I, 
Who  with  a  smile  such  lot  assigned  you, 

Would  scale  your  convent  wall  to-night, 
And  kiss  and  kill  you,  could  I  find  you  \ 


IN  NOVEMBER. 

BROWN  earth-line  meets  gray  heaven, 

And  all  the  land  looks  sad, 
But  Love  *s  the  little  leaven 

That  works  the  whole  world  glad. 
Sigh,  bitter  wind,  lower,  frore  clouds  of  gray, 
My  Love  and  I  are  living  npw  in  May  ! 


46 


COLOR  SONG. 

WHITE  and  red,  wine  and  bread, 
We  ate  and  drank,  our  wooing  sped. 
Alas,  the  measure  of  secret  pleasure, 
My  mother's  curse  is  on  my  head. 

Green  and  blue,  land  and  sea, 

Over  them  both  you  fled  from  me. 

Ah  mad,  sweet  wooing,  't  was  my  undoing, 

No  more  on  Earth  your  face  I  see. 


47 


A  MESSAGE  TO  MY  DEAR. 

AH  my  love,  I  am  with  you  heart  and  soul, 

Heart  and  soul  in  spite  of  them  all, 
Spite  of  Dame  Reason,  who  keeps  me  here, 

Spite  of  Dame  Conscience  with  iron  thrall. 

Only  the  body,  that  throbs  and  pants, 

Cannot  get  free  from  their  binding  chain. 

It  must  pine  here,  whether  it  will  or  no, 
Never  to  thrill  in  thy  arms  again. 

But  my  Heart,  she  speaks  to  the  cold,  stern  shrews  : 
"  Guard  thou  the  body,  but  I  am  free, 

Keep  what  thou  canst,  but  know,  good  dames, 
Mine  is  the  joy  of  memory. 

"  Mine  are  a  thousand  raptures  past, 

Passionate  noontides  and  moonlit  nights, 

Keep  thou  the  body,  good  dames,  an*  thou  canst 
But  know  that  the  heart  takes  its  swallow  flights  !  '• 


48 


A  FALLEN  BLOSSOM. 

THERE  's  not  a  star  in  the  sky, 

The  air  hangs  thick  with  mist, 
And  the  rain  is  wet  on  the  throat  he  praised, 

And  chill  on  the  lips  he  kissed. 

Ah,  well  for  that  summer  day, 
With  its  loitering  breeze  from  the  south  ; 
But  alas  for  the  winter,  no  word  for  me, 
No  kiss  for  the  poor  changed  mouth. 

Ah,  well  for  the  Summer  Rose 

With  its  beauty  undashed  by  a  tear. 

But  alas  for  the  Rose  in  the  Autumn  rains, 
And  alas  for  the  sad  New  Year  ! 

And  if  his  tears  should  fall 
Where  he  kissed  again  and  again, 

Ah,  God  !  would  it  be  too  late  to  know 
A  tear  from  a  drop  of  this  rain — 
If  't  were  too  late  to  know  pain  ? 


49 


THE  PORTRAIT. 

LET  others  drape  the  face 
They  dare  no  more  to  see,  in  shrouding  fold, 
And  teach  themselves,  in  all  the  gloom  and  cold 
Of  coming  winter,  that  there  lies  no  spark 
In  the  hid  eyes,  to  warm  and  light  their  dark, 
Nor  look  again  upon  its  blinded  grace. 

Thou  canst  be  seen, 

O  thou  beloved  Face,  by  all  who  care  to  gaze. 
From  me  alone,  bright  sun  of  my  dead  days, 
A  veil  of  tears  forever  hides  thy  light, 
But  dawn  of  Heaven  shall  break  on  earthly  night, 

And  God  shall  rend  the  veil  that  lies  between  ! 


WHEN  I  WAS  THIJSn,. 
"  Ricordati  da  me  quand  'ero  teco." — Tuscan  Rispetto. 

THE  sullen  rain  breaks  on  the  convent  window, 

The  distant  chanting  dies  upon  mine  ears. 
— Soon   comes  the   morn  for  which  my  soul  hath 

languished, 
For  which  my  soul  hath  yearned  these   many 

years  ; 

Forget  of  me  this  life  which  I  resign, 
Think  of  me  in  the  days  when  I  was  thine. 

Forget  the  paths  my  weary  feet  have  travelled, 
The  thorns  and  stones  that  pierced   them   as  I 

went  ; 

These  later  days  of  prayer  and  scourge  and  pen- 
ance, 

These  hours  of  anguish  now  so  nearly  spent. 
Forget  I  left  thy  life  for  life  divine, 
Think  of  me  in  the  days  when  I  was  thine. 
51 


$2  THE  ROSE   OF  FLAME. 

Forget  the  rigid  brow  as  thou  wilt  see  it, 
The  folded  eyelids,  and  the  quiet  mouth. 

Think  how  my  eyes  grew  brighter  at  thy  coming, 
Think  of  those  fervid  noontides  in  the  South. 

Think  when  my  kisses  made  life  half  divine, 

Think  of  me  in  the  days  when  I  was  thine. 

Forget  this  nearer  past,  I  do  adjure  thee, 

Remember  only  what  was  long  ago. 
Think  when   our   love   was   fire  unquenched  by 
ashes, 

Think  of  our  Spring,  and  not  this  Winter's  snow. 
Forget  me  as  I  lie,  past  speech  or  sign. 
Think  of  me  in  the  days  when  I  was  thine. 


PREMONITIONS, 
i. 

HERE  I  kneel  in  the  Church,  and  the  Altar  Throne, 

dim  in  the  twilight, 
Shows  sundry  points  a-gleam,  by  the  swinging  red 

lamp  of  the  Presence. 
It  is  so  cold,  on  the  rail  here,  before  me,  my  tears 

lie  in  ice-drops. 
Cold  as  a  stone,  too,  the  hand  that  has  beaten  my 

breast  in  my  praying. 
Haunted  again,  even  here,  in  this  Church's  gray, 

frozen  silence. 
Mixed  with  my  prayers  and  my  tears,  the  Past  that 

has  led  to  the  Future. 
Feet,  that  have  strayed  here  to-night,  ye  have  a 

path  yet  to  travel, 
Shaped  for  you,  destined  for  you,  but  its  ending 

lies  veiled  in  the  shadows. 
Only  a  part  I  can  see,  far  enough  to  set  you  a- 

journey, 

53 


54  THE  ROSE   OF  FLAME. 

Not  as  a  dream  of  the  night,  or  a  heated  midsum- 
mer fancy, 

This  is  the  certain  foreknowledge,  that  thus  I  must 
do,  it  is  fated. 

n. 

Over  wide  miles  in  the  dusk,  with  a  soul  full  of 
calmness  and  silence, 

Only  fulfilling  my  life's  plain  logical  end  in  com- 
pleteness. 

Then  through  the  streets  all  astir  with  lights  and 
the  sounds  of  late  traffic, 

Then  a  corridor,  noisy,  and  full  of  echoing  voices. 

Then  a  wide  flight  of  stairs,  that  await  my  unhast- 
ing  footsteps, 

Stairs,  that  ere  they  were  built,  were   ordained  I 
should  traverse,  ascending, 

Stairs  to  which  all  my  journeys  by  land  and  by 
ocean  have  led  me. 

These  I  shall  climb,  soon  or  late,  and  the  time  is,  I 
think,  drawing  nearer. 

Only  a  threshold  to  cross,  and  then  face  to  face 
with  what  shall  be. 


PREMONITIONS.  55 

III. 

"  Take  me,  or  leave  me,  I  come.     I  am  yours  as  to 

flesh  and  to  spirit. 
Fashion  the  soul,  as  you  will,  and  doom  it  to  Hell 

or  to  Heaven. 

And  of  the  body,  't  is  yours,  and  humble  to  spurn- 
ing or  worship." 
World,  what  of  you  ?    If  't  is  well,  and  he  crush 

me  at  this  to  his  bosom, 
Never  a  word  of  dispraise  in  that  ultimate  rapture 

can  reach  me. 
Who,  for  their  mortal  delight,  would  take  in  its 

lieu  your  approval  ? 
And,  if  instead,  a  cold   glance  from   him  should 

pierce  me  at  heart's  core, 
Scarcely,  I  think,  I  shall  heed  your  comment  of 

scorn  on  the  morrow, 
For  by  that  morrow  my  ears  will  be  filled  with 

brown,  hurrying  ripples 
Of  that  small  muddy  river,  that  winds  round  the 

edge  of  the  city. 


SMILES  AND  TEARS. 

• 

MINE  eyes  have  looked  upon  the  earth 

Through  such  strange  years  since  God  first  bade 

them  wake  ! 

And  first  they  smiled  to  find  it  all  so  fair, 
So  much  to  be  beloved  for  beauty's  sake. 
And  then  they  wept,  to  find  the  earth  so  sad, 
To  know  the  worm  lay  hid  in  beauty's  core. 
And  since  that  day  they  have  forgot  to  smile, 
And  only  have  known  tears  forevermore. 
But  when  God  bids  them  wake  that  second  day, 
They  shall  forget  to  weep,  and  smile  alway. 


A  BALLAD  OF  THE  BELL. 

THE  bell  hangs  still  in  the  belfry  tower, 

Resting  now  in  the  late  sunshine, 
But  another  day  it  must  do  brave  work, 

On  the  day  that  is  mine  and  thine. 

Thou  and  I,  by  the  belfry  tower 
Stood  at  eve  when  the  day  was  set. 

Vows  were  made  that  were  sweet  to  hear, 
— Sweet  to  make  and  forget. 

"  Some  day,  dear  Heart,  that  bell  shall  sing 
One  song  and  the  same  for  thee  and  me, 

When  we  pass  through  the  church-yard  gate 
With  our  goodly  company." 

The  ringer  is  hired  for  the  morrow  by  thee, 
And  so  he  ring  loud  thou  wilt  feast  him  well, 

Go,  bid  him  make  the  bell  sway  long, 
It  hath  a  strange  tale  to  tell. 

57 


58  THE  ROSE   OF  FLAME. 

And  start  thou  not  from  thy  darling's  side 

When  I  shall  pass  through  the  church-yard  gate 

Thy  festal  day  shall  be  my  festal  day, 
And  I  too  in  state,  though  more  solemn  state. 

And  start  thou  not  from  thy  darling's  side 
When  the  bell  rings  on  as  they  bear  me  by, 

Saidst  thou  not  it  should  ring  for  we  twain, 
And  our  goodly  company  ? 

They  shall  not  bear  me  'twixt  thee  and  thy  bride, 
No  more  than  thy  vow  do  I  seek  of  thee, 

So  that  the  bell  shall  sing  that  day 
One  song  and  the  same  for  thee  and  me. 


SEPARATION. 

IF  it  were  land,  oh,  weary  feet  could  travel, 
If  it  were  sea,  a  ship  might  cleave  the  wave, 
If  it  were  Death,  sad  Love  could  look  to  heaven, 
And  see,  through  tears,  the  sunlight  on  the  grave. 
Not  land,  or  sea,  or  death  keep  us  apart, 
But  only  thou,  oh  unforgiving  Heart. 

If  it  were  land,  through  piercing  thorns  I  'd  travel, 

If  it  were  sea,  I  'd  cross  to  thee,  or  die, 

If  it  were  Death,  I  'd  tear  Life's  veil  asunder 

That  I  might  see  thee  with  a  clearer  eye, 

Ah,  none  of  these  could  keep  our  souls  apart. 

Forget,  forgive,  oh  unforgiving  Heart  ! 


59 


FROM  HIM  TO  HER. 

"  And  now  good  morrow  to  our  waking  souls, 
Which  watch  not  one  another  out  of  fear." 

—John  Donne. 

"  AND  is  this  all  of  love  ?  "  we  cry 
With  dreary  eyes,  and  disenchanted 

We  turn  a  shuddering  shoulder  to 

The  form  that  once  our  visions  haunted. 

Earth's  saddest  joy,  its  sweetest  dole, 
In  cloying  flavors  we  have  tasted, 

The  ghost  of  my  clean,  last  year's  soul, 
Bids  me  regret  the  hours  I  've  wasted. 

The  bloom  of  Soul,  Love's  sacred  mists, 
Reckless,  we  brushed  aside  forever. 

Last  night  we  loved  ;  in  gray  To-day 
We  both  are  very  fain  to  sever. 
60 


FROM  HIM  TO  HER.  6 1 

Our  plans  to  meet,  our  frenzied  love, 
We  view  to-day  with  sad  derision. 

In  this  cold  dawn  your  face  seems  changed 
From  that  which  filled  my  dreams  elysian. 

And  was  it  we  who  fiercely  kissed, 

Our  lips  with  rapture  crushed  together  ? 

That  was  last  night,  to-day,  my  Dear, 

Has  brought  more  chill  and  wintry  weather. 

Among  the  gods  we  lived  last  night 
In  highest  heaven,  and  now  't  is  over. 

But  I  have  lost  my  soul  for  this, 
While  you — have  only  lost  your  lover, 


BEREFT. 

I  let  you  go  from  me  without  a  heart-break, 
For  now  at  first,  the  old  dream  holds  me  fast. 

Our  lips  have  clung  together,  oh,  so  often  ! 
How  can  I  feel  this  last  kiss  is  the  last  ? 

Go,  then,  grown  weary  of  the  old  embraces, 
Nor  think  that  you  have  left  me  quite  forlorn. 

I  am  contented  to  dwell  henceforth  in  twilight, 
For  once  mine  eyes  have  looked  upon  the  morn. 


62 


A  REMONSTRANCE. 

NAY,  mourn  not  so,  my  friend,  not  so, 
Though  once  beloved,  and  now  forsaken, 

Though  grief  must  go  with  you  through  life 
And  waken  daily  when  you  waken, 

The  dear,  immortal  Past  is  yours, 
And  will  not  leave  you,  or  be  taken. 

Pity,  instead,  the  poor  like  me, 

Who  own  no  golden  Yesterday, 
Whose  roads  have  led  through  gloomy  forest, 

'Neath  skies  of  chill  and  hopeless  gray, 
— Who  cannot,  in  the  time  of  Winter, 

Look  back  and  think,  "  It  once  was  May  !  " 


FOREWARNED. 

I. 

THE  paths  seem  long  that  once  were  short  for  me, 
The  ways  that  once  were  smooth,  are  hard  and 
rough, 

Old  griefs  and  joys  seem  strangely  near  once  more, 
My  times  for  rest  are  never  long  enough. 

The  task  undone  may  still  unfinished  lie, 

And  all  my  laughter  breaks  short  in  a  sigh. 

II. 

Even  so,  some  little  leaves  upon  the  trees, 
Withered  in  May,  turned  sere  before  their  time, 

Feel  the  strong  breeze  loosen  their  tender  stems, 
To  warn  them  they  must  go  ere  life  's  at  prime, 

To  whisper,  ere  it  drifts  them  all  below  : 

"Leaves,  little  leaves  ;  make  ready,  you  must  go." 


64 


AN  OLD  BURDEN. 

AND  how  is  it  when  Love  comes  ? 

Tired  feet  shod  with  strength  to  run, 
Bitternesses  turned  to  sweets, 

Shadows  short  in  mid-day  sun, 
New  cares  risen,  old  cares  ended, 

Peace  and  passion  strangely  blended. 

And  how  is  it  when  Love  goes  ? 

We  seek  not  what  was  before, 
Teach  our  hearts  some  other  tune, 

And  put  by  the  look  Love  wore, 
For  since  first  the  seasons  ran, 

Love  comes  only  once  to  man  ! 


ASSURANCE. 

WOULD  I,  once  dead,  come  back  and  haunt  thee, 

Love  ? 

— Jealous  of  happy  days  that  still  were  thine, 
That  thou  couldst  yet  rejoice  in  warm  sunshine, 

And  hatred  stir  thee,  and  hot  passion  move. 

Would  I,  an  icy  breath,  return  to  thee  ? 

— To  chill  thy  blood,  and  freeze  thy  heart  with 

fear, 
To  stand,  a  wraith,  'twixt  thee  and  love's  sweet 

cheer, 
And  make  thee  tremble  with  iny  voiceless  plea. 

Nay,  Love,  forget  the  green  spot  where  I  lie, 
And  if  too  strong  the  wish  to  come  to  thee, 
No  voice  or  spirit  shalt  thou  hear  or  see, 

Only  across  thy  harp,  one  tender  sigh. 


66 


HELIOTROPE. 

THIS  is  the  flower  we  loved,  whose  sultry  scent 
Recalls  the  one  sweet  thing  in  all  the  world, — 
Delight, 

Whose  breath  is  love  itself,  who  drinks  the  sun, 
And  loves  its  fierceness  more  than  dewy  night. 

This  is  the  flower  you  killed,  one  August  noon, 
Jealous  because  it  laid  upon  my  breast, 

Jealous  because  it  held  the  sacred  place 

Where  your  tired  head  alone  might  dare  to  rest. 


67 


A  PASTORAL. 

O  WOULD  I  were  a  blossom,  then  he  would  look 

upon  me  ! 
He  has  a  heart  for  fields  and  flowers,  but  none, 

alas,  for  me. 
Or  would  I  were  a  little  wave,  by  wind  and  tide  set 

moving, 

I  would  beat  myself  against  his  boat,  as  he  sails 
out  to  sea. 

O  Love,  be  wise  ;  the  blossoms  will  fade  as  soon 

as  gathered, 
While  set  me  in  thy  bosom,  I  will  bloom  for  many 

a  day. 
And  out  upon   the   ocean  the  winter  storms  are 

raging, 

'T  is  safer  far  for  thee  to  bide  within  love's  land- 
locked bay. 


68 


THE  JUNE  STORM. 

Two  clouds,  wind-hurled  together, 
Driven  by  the  guilty  weather 

Through  darkness  dense  and  warm. 
Day  into  dusk  was  waning, 
And  in  our  breasts,  past  feigning, 
We  heard  love's  voice  complaining, 

— The  Spirit  of  the  storm. 

No  thought  of  world  withheld  me, 
All  Nature's  force  compelled  me 

To  sink  between  your  arms. 
With  yearning  groans  of  thunder, 
Heaven  rent  her  veil  asunder, 
Showed  lightnings  hiding  under, 

—  Showed  all  her  awful  charms. 
69 


7O  THE  ROSE   OF  FLAME. 

We,  after  kindred  fashion, 

Shared  heaven's  deep  throes  of  passion, 

Its  pangs  of  love  and  pain. 
'T  was  sweet,  beyond  believing, 
'T  is  past,  beyond  retrieving, 
I  hear,  in  my  fierce  grieving, 

Those  beating  tears  of  rain. 


A   DEPARTURE. 

HOPE  left  me  one  black  day, 

Whither  ?    Wherefore  ?    Who  can  say  ! 

All  I  know  is  this  : 
One  black  day  with  strange  surprise, 
I  saw  pity  in  his  eyes, 

I  felt  pity  in  his  kiss. 

Hope  left  without  one  parting  glance, 
Now  others  hear  her  tunes,  perchance, 
But  never  in  my  ears  again, 
She  sings  the  old,  bewitching  strain. 


A  SOLILOQUY  IN  CHURCH. 

AH,  Love,  look  down  across  thy  flock  at  me. 
Thou  art  not  always  thus,  too  blind  to  see  ! 
For  here  I  kneel,  half  down  the  crowded  aisle, 
And  in  mine  eyes, — for  thee  alone, — a  smile. 
Look  at  me  once,  and  memories,  I  will  swear, 
Shall  make  thee  falter  in  thy  measured  prayer. 
Ah  well,  thou  dost  not  dream  to  find  me  here, 
So  from  neglect  I  will  absolve  thee,  Dear. 
These  worshippers,  in  clouds  of  incense  sweet, 
The  breath   of  prayer  has  bowed,   like   bending 

wheat 

Before  the  wind,  and  clearly  I  can  see 
The  chancel  and  the  altar,  lastly,  thee  I 
Is  thy  soul  filled  with  heaven  ?    Ah,  one  night 
How  all  the  moonlight  drenched  us  with  its  white, 
My  face  was  strained  up,  then,  to  meet  thine  own, 
And  now  thine  eyes  are  blank  of  love  as  stone, 
And  on  thy  shoulder  all  my  gold  hair  fell, 
As  rare  a  covering  as  that  chasuble. 
72. 


A    SOLILOQUY  IN  CHURCH.  73 

Thy  kisses  drowned  me  ;  now  a  meagre  dole 
With  chill  and  hasty  lips  thou  giv'st  the  stole. 
God  has  a  holy  life  as  due  from  thee, 
But  no  such  fervor  as  thou  gav'st  to  me  ! 
Sometimes, — I  know  thee  ! — all  thy  soul  rebels, 
Weary  of  chants,  and  prayers,  and  solemn  bells. 
Across  this  life,  like  music  over  snow, 
Echoes  must  drift,  of  old  words,  sweet  and  low, 
Half  inarticulate,  made  hard  to  hear, 
Because  thy  mouth  was  close  on  mine,  my  Dear ! 

0  if  to-day  I  paused, — harassed  by  grief, 
— Or  needing  counsel,— pleading  for  relief, 
— Or  any  pretty  lie  I  choose  to  make, 

To  speak  with  thee  again,  for  old  love's  sake. 
Words  might  not  lead  thee  from  the  way  divine, 
But  well  I  know, — if, — if, — my  hand  on  thine, — 
What  devil  tempts  me  ?    Nay,  I  love  too  well 
To  lure  thy  white,  if  faltering  soul,  to  hell. 
Go  sink  thy  thoughts  in  prayer  and  litany, 

1  dare  not  touch  thee,  Love  ;  go  free  of  me. 
Ah,  is  it  over  ?     Yes,  the  chant  is  done, 

And  through  the  glowing  window  pours  the  sun, 


74  THE  ROSE   OF  FLAME. 

Sets  a  prophetic  aureole  round  his  brow, 
The  promise  of  the  After  to  the  Now. 
The  organ  moans  no  more,  the  singers  cease, 
And  we,  the  faithful,  now  may  go  in  peace. 
And  he  has  gone, — why  should  I  longer  stay 
Who  came  to  see  him,  not  to  praise  or  pray  ? 
And  I,  to-day,  when  once  outside  this  door 
Have  left  him  utterly,  forevermore, 
For  so  I  love  him.     Later,  he  will  stand 
Crowned,  with  the  saints,  a  palm  within  his  hand, 
Straight,  who  once  bent  beneath  the  scourging  rod. 
His  soul  a  cup,  filled  to  the  brim  with  God. 
Purged  clean  of  earth,  his  pure,  transfigured  eyes 
Will  never  search  for  me  in  Paradise. 
For  me,  a  sinner,  just  to  see  him  there 
Will  make,  I  think,  a  Heaven  of  anywhere. 
God  will  blot  out,  that  he  be  clear  of  woe, 
The  memory  of  our  tender  loves  below, 
For  else,  nor  peace,  nor  palm  would  quite  suffice 
Without  me,  to  make  bliss  of  Paradise  ! 


SLEEPLESSNESS. 

There  is  one  spot  beneath  you,  frosty  stars, 
Where  I,  this  bitter  night,  might  make  my  nest. 

Where  is  one  place  alone,  in  all  the  land, 
Where  I  might  take  my  fill  of  peaceful  rest 

O  over  dark  and  frozen  miles  to  speed, 

To  take  the  flesh  where  the  soul  pants  to  be  ! 

And  then  to  find — who  knows  ? — an  empty  place 
With  last  year's  leaves,  to  make  a  bed  for  me  ! 


75 


A  SONG  OF  LIFE. 

DID  I  seek  life  ?    Not  so  ;  its  weight  was  laid  upon 

me, 
And  yet  of  my  burden  sore  I  may  not  set  myself 

free. 
Two  love,  and  lo,  at  love's  call,  a  hapless  soul  must 

wake  ; 
Like  a  slave  it  is  called  to  the  world,  to  bear  life,  for 

their  love's  sake. 

Did  I  seek  love  ?     Not  so  ;   Love  led  me  along  by 

the  hand. 
Love  beguiled  me  with  songs  and  caresses,  while 

I  took  no  note  of  the  land. 
And  lo,  I  stood  in   a  quicksand,  but  Love  had 

wings,  and  he  fled.  % 

Ah  fool,  for  a  mortal  to  venture  where  only  a  god 

may  tread  ! 


AN  APRIL  PLAINT. 

YES,  hope  is  over  :  Spring  shall  stir  the  mold 
Until  the  meadows  shine  in  green  once  more, 

And  melt  the  ice  around  the  inlet's  mouth, 
Until  the  happy  ripples  kiss  the  shore. 

But  thou,  when  wast  thou  stirred  by  any  prayer, 
Or  moved  by  love,  as  is  the  Earth  by  Spring  ? 

Cold  voice,  if  I  but  once  could  hear  thee  melt, 
And  motherly,  to  some  tired  baby  sing, 

— If  I  could  see  those  eyes,  that  make  my  day, 
Shine  through  warm  tears,  as  does  the  sun  through 
shower, 

And  those  proud  lips  that  care  for  smiles  alone, 
Quiver  and  droop  through  one  unhappy  hour — 

Then  I  should  hope,  and  dream  that  Winter's  frost 
Was  yielding  to  the  witchery  of  Spring. 

But  I  have  waited  now,  so  long,  so  long, 
— So  vainly,  for  its  first  sweet  bird  to  sing  ! 


77 


SONG. 

OLD  AGE,  we  shall  be  sorry  friends,  't  is  my  belief, 
For  thou  wilt  burn  my  hair  to  ashen  gray, 
And  thou  wilt  steal  love's  dear  delights  away, 

And  leave  me  nothing  in  their  place  but  grief. 

God  grant  that  memory's  light  at  least  remain, 
To  bathe  thy  dreary  waste  of  cheerless  snow 
With  radiance  of  an  Alpine  after-glow. 

So  I  shall  dream  of  youth,  nor  feel  my  pain. 


HARVEST-TIDE  FOR  ONE. 

WHEN  all  the  land  with  corn  was  green, 

And  all  the  air  was  hot  with  sun, 
I  used  to  lean  from  yonder  pane, 

Rebuked  for  this  or  that  undone, 
To  look  across  the  glad,  warm  fields, 

"  For  there,"  I  thought,  "  I  soon  shall  glean." 
With  happy  dreams  of  harvest-tide, 

When  all  the  land  was  green  with  corn. 

When  all  the  harvest  fields  lay  shorn, 

And  stubble  was,  where  corn  grew  fair, 
For  others  was  the  harvest  gain, 

For  me — the  empty  fields  stretched  bare. 
Only  God  knows  how  sad  they  were, 

Those  cold  brown  lands,  once  green  with  corn, 
But  they  were  what  was  left  for  me, 

When  all  the  harvest  fields  lay  shorn. 


79 


THE  WISH. 

COME,  let  us  spend  an  idle  hour  in  wishing, 
Like  happy  children  on  a  summer's  day, 

Feigning  we  never  spent  a  past  together, 

Nor  know  what  farewells  we  shall  have  to  say. 

And  I  will  wish  this  silver  tide  of  moonlight, 

That  shows  your  tender  face,  and  upturned  eyes, 

Its  weary  lips,  half  parted  in  their  languor, 
Too  tired  with  kissing  me,  to  speak  replies. 

— I  wish  this  silver  tide  of  summer  moonlight, 
Were  that  strange  flood  of  ancient  fairy  lore, 

Wherein  the  hapless  mortal  rashly  plunging,  . 
Was  changed  from  flesh  to  stone,  forevermore. 

Through   the   long  centuries   we  should   still  be 

sleeping, 

And  Time  could  never  touch  your  luring  charms, 
And  I,  past  any  chance  of  changing  fortune, 
Should  hold  you,  through  the  ages,  in  my  arms. 
80 


THE  WISH.  8 1 

Ah,  Sweet,  the  days  are  past  of  elfin  magic, 
And  you  must  fade  like  any  other  flower, 

And  at  the  longest,  I  can  only  linger 

To  keep  you  in  my  arms,  one  fleeting  hour. 

Ah,  Sweet,  forgive  the  reverie's  bitter  ending, 
What,  has  my  foolish  fancy  made  you  weep  ? 

Nay,  close  instead  those  white  and  weary  eyelids, 
And  dream  we  love  forever,  in  your  sleep. 


A  FOREST  EPISODE. 

IN  my  forest  grew  an  oak, 
King  among  the  woodland  folk. 
Proudly  rose  his  lofty  head, 
Mightily  his  boughs  were  spread. 
Just  a  little  breeze  one  day 
Touched  his  leaves  in  wanton  play, 
Round  him  in  a  frolic  ran, 
That  was  how  the  storm  began. 

Just  that  little  breeze  awoke 
Longing  in  the  lusty  oak. 
All  the  leaves  sighed  ;  "Come  again  ! " 
Nor  was  the  amorous  prayer  in  vain, 
For  the  breeze,  in  one  short  hour 
Came  in  conquering  whirlwind's  power, 
And  the  heart  of  oak  was  riven, 
With  one  flash  of  fire  from  heaven. 


82 


TWO  SONGS  OF  SINGING, 
i. 

SING  to  me  once  again,  till  I  forget 
That  now  we  hate,  and  dream  we  love  on  yet. 
Thy  voice,  if  aught  on  earth,  can  wake  regret, 
Sing  to  me  once  again,  till  I  forget. 

Sing  ;  at  thy  voice  the  old  dream  shall  arise. 
Make  me  thy  fool,  feed  me  again  with  lies, 
— For  I  was  happier,  ere  I  grew  so  wise, 
Sing  ;  at  thy  voice  the  old  dream  shall  arise. 

n. 

When  first  I  heard  thee  sing,  O  my  Beloved, 
Thy  voice,  like  wine,  ran  through  my  sleepy  blood, 
Woke  soul  and  flesh  in  answer  to  its  pleading, 
And  thrilled  the  unstirred  depths  of  maiden-hood. 

Listening,  I  wept,  with  strange,  delicious  anguish, 
Nor  knew  it  was  a  bitter  prophecy, 
A  dim  foreshadowing  to  my  troubled  spirit, 
Of  future  tears,  that  I  must  shed  for  thee. 

83 


HEINRICH  HEINE. 

GOD  said  :  "  I  will  make  a  poet," 
*  And  a  soul  was  sent  below, 
With  the  singer's  wings  of  rapture, 
With  the  sufferer's  weight  of  woe. 

God  laid  on  the  eyes,  the  poet's 

Awful  gift  of  second-sight, 
On  the  restless,  questioning  spirit, 

All  the  blackness  of  the  night. 

On  the  body,  pangs  of  torture, 

Hell's  own  pains  and  love's  sharp  sting, 
Doubt  you  woe  must  dower  the  poet  ? 

Hush,  draw  close  and  hear  him  sing  ! 


84 


CONFESSION. 

CURSE,  if  thou  wilt ;  yet  perchance  thy  curse 
Is  that  which  holds  me,  when  I  would  pray, 

Gives  me  this  dumb  and  frozen  heart, 
To  carry  about  in  my  breast  all  day. 

Ah,  but  the  night,  the  night  is  thine, 
Thou  art  avenged  in  the  sinking  night, 

Sick  unto  death  of  an  alien  love 

My  soul  is  with  thee  from  light  to  light. 

His  arms  enfold  me,  persistent  lips 

Plead  not  in  vain  for  an  answering  sign. 

How  should  he  dream  that  I  feign  the  mouth 
Seeking  my  own,  is  not  his,  but  thine  ! 


85 


A  RETROSPECTION. 

THIS  place  is  Paradise.     I  grant  you,  dusk 
Just  melting  into  night,  and  swooning  scent 
Of  dew-drowned  roses,  and  the  rich,  dim  fields 
And  half  a  mile  away,  the  sea,  that  dreams 
Upon  the  shore's  white  breast,  and  in  its  sleep 
Whispers,  are  well  for  you.     For  me,  alas, 
I  crave  a  certain  heated  street  to-night 
Far  down  the  city,  mean  and  dull  enough, 
Its  dingy,  staring  houses  set  a-row, 
With  windows  open  to  the  heavy  air. 
Among  them,  like  the  rest,  save  to  my  eyes, ' 
To  which  it  stands  as  clearly  separate 
As  might  a  palace, — temple,  rather  say, 

A  house  that  held  what  joy  the  gods  ordained, 

And  set  for  my  whole  share  in  weary  life. 
And  there  's  a  room,  narrow,  with  four  close  walls, 
A  little  place  so  consecrate  to  love, 
It  seems  Queen  Venus  must  be  wroth  with  one 
Who  dares  to  step  inside  with  clothen  feet. 
86 


A   RETROSPECTION.  8/ 

Dim  ?    Ay,  it  was  but  litten  scantily 
With  one  small  window, — dim  as  any  shrine, 
More  glorified  by  love  than  sun  or  moon, 
Yet  was  there  light  enough  to  show  his  eyes, 

Or  was  it  they  that  made  the  gloom  to  glow  ? 

And  in  the  tarnished  mirror  on  the  wall 
To  startle  us,  with  shock  of  sudden  sight 
That  repetition  never  dulled  to  us, 
Of  two  dim  faces,  passion-pale,  whose  eyes 
Made  out  the  strange  reflection,  as  a  scroll 
Writ  backward,  writ  to  read  before  a  glass, 
That  never  any  other  way  reads  plain  and  clear, 
And  learned,   such    times,   what   love   had   done 

with  us. 
Cheek  pressed    to    cheek  we    looked    and    read 

therein, 
Then  turned  from  it,  and  sighed,  stretched  empty 

arms, 

And  found  no  tender  speech  in  any  tongue 
Was  sweet  enough  for  what  we  fain  would  say. 
So  each  dumb  mouth  sought  each,  in  dearth  of  words, 
And  in  that  barren  place  Love  stayed  with  us, 


88  THE  ROSE   OF  FLAME. 

And  in  the  silent  hours  he  taught  us  all 
His  sacred  mysteries,  whereof  we  learned 
With  willing  hearts,  and  drank  with  willing  lips 
Of  every  cup  that  Love's  hand  proffered  us. 
Would  I  might  seek  that  little  room  to-night, 
And  pay  to  Love  the  debt  I  owe  for  this. 
And  pour  a  last  oblation  out  to  Love, 
Who  gave  all  joy  to  me.     It  should  be  mete 
For  one  who  is  so  great  and  strong  a  god, 
A  crimson  tide,  but  not  of  any  wine, 
Poured  out  most  freely,  with  unfaltering  hand. 


IGNIS  FATUUS. 

THE  pathway  led  through  marshy  land, 

My  weary  feet  slipped  in  the  ooze, 
The  drenching  fog  clung  close  around, 

Yet  never  did  my  will  refuse 
To  travel  on,  to  crush  the  rising  moan, 
Nor  question  why  my  way  was  set  ajone. 

Across  the  marshes  came  the  sound, 

Mist-muffled,  of  the  lonely  sea. 
I  passed  the  landmarks,  one  by  one, 

This  slimy  stone,  that  rotting  tree. 
"  Nearing  the  end/'  I  told  my  fainting  soul, 
"  Be  brave  ;  we  soon  shall  reach  the  journey's  goal." 

How  could  I  know  when  night  closed  in, 
That  ghastly  light  would  haunt  the  moor  ? 

-• — To  lead  me  back  to  whence  I  came, 
Always  ahead,  a  Devil's  lure. 

So  Hell  gave  them  the  race,  and  left  for  me, 

The  faint  and  mocking  laughter  of  the  sea. 


LONGING. 

WOULD  God  that  I  this  day  might  take  my  rest 
Within  the  quiet  bounds  of  Paradise, 
Where  green  the  meadows  spread  for  weary  feet, 
And  peaceful  looks  the  land  to  weary  eyes. 

Would  God  that  I,  in  heaven's  placid  sea, 
Might  sink  the  dragging  weight  of  memory, 
The  heavy  burden  of  that  vain  regret, 
That  long  as  time  shall  last,  must  haunt  me  yet. 


90 


TIME'S  REVENGE. 

PARTED  lips  with  victory  sated, 

Dreaming  head  and  outstretched  form, 

Now  the  face  is  pale  with  waking, 
That  you  once  kissed  crimson-warm. 

O  't  is  Nature's  just  requital, 
You  shall  no  more  vigils  keep. 

I,  who  laughed  to  scorn  your  watching, 
Now  am  jealous  of  your  sleep  ! 


SOLACE. 

IN  your  arms  but  yesterday  ! 

Where,  to-morrow  ? 

Shuddering  Sorrow 

Gazes  down,  and  sees  the  waiting  clay, 
Gazes  up,  and  Heaven  is  far  away, 
Yet  Flesh  and  Soul  must  go,  though  fain  to  stay. 

In  your  arms  but  yesterday  ! 

— Softly  sleeping. 

Now,  no  weeping 

Gains  from  Death,  one  little  hour's  delay  ! 
Then  hold  me  closer,  in  the  old  sweet  way, 
And  Death,  at  least,  shall  find  brave  Love  at  bay  ! 


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